I am human and I need to be loved.
Time for some random writey! This is a scene I hope to include somewhere around the end of part one/beginning of part two of the Carrion King. It started as just something to jot down so I could get a scene out of my head; then it expanded and grew, kind of on its own. Thanks to Betsy and Dan for their willingness to read it piece by piece as I wrote it~ I love you guys.
"Are you sure you want to do this? It seems so - dramatic." I thinned my lips and watched Sagramore's reflection in the glass. He clearly looked uneasy with the knife in one hand, and the other settled on my shoulder. I was dressed in plain clothes, muted in color, as opposed to the rich garb of kingship. It suited me better, I thought, to be dressed as a peasant.
"Do it. I'll be too easily known otherwise," I said after a pause, "It's only hair; it will grow back eventually." Sagramore exhaled through his nose and took my length of hair in his free hand, hesitating a moment before he began sawing through it with the knife. Once the majority of it was gone, he began to work more deftly, and I watched, rapt, as I began to transform. It took a little while, for I'd grown my hair long and it was naturally so thick, but when he was finished, I barely recognized myself. What was left of the black locks I was infamous for as a boy stuck up in short, unruly peaks. No one could accuse me now of girlish vanity, for Sagramore's handiwork was messy and uneven. It was perfect.
"Where has my Mordred gone?" the Hungarian pouted, only half-serious; he ran his fingers through the freshly shorn tufts, trying to pat them down some. In greater earnest, he murmured, tone nearly a whisper, "I see this stranger before me now, and he is beautiful, but he is not my Mordred. I think I may have cut away more than your hair this evening." Seeing the mournful look at his reflection's face, I turned to look up at him, but I couldn't quite manage the reassuring smile I wanted to give.
"Anything that was cut away was rotted and old. I'm starting again, and high time I did. It was weighing me down." I did not have to explain what "it" was, nor did he seem to feel the need to ask. Again, he threaded his fingers through what remained of my hair, this time bending to leave a gentle kiss on my temple. My eyes drifted shut for a moment as I drew in a silent breath, expelling it as soundlessly. "You cannot come with me, you know. I need you here, to be my eyes and my ears, and I would leave before Constantine gets it in his head to have me exiled - or executed. He is not merciful to his rivals, and he sees ambition in every man who so much as looks him in the eye while that crown sits upon his brow." Sagramore's face fell, but he nodded in understanding.
"I hope that you will write, at least. If I cannot share your adventures, I would hear of them from you by your own hand."
"Fool," I chuckled, brushing from my shoulder a lock of hair that had been missed, "You can scarcely read English, yet you ask of me letters?" He sniffed, mock-indignant at my gibe.
"I shall have your brother read them to me," was his answer, and a bright answer it was. Gawaine was ever my ally, even as my brief rule as High King served to ruin everything of my father's that he'd loved. I knew that my mother's second son would support me in this as staunchly as he did in anything else. There was no harm, I supposed, in having him read some perfectly innocuous letters to my friend.
"Very well," I relented, though I had not so much as put up a pretense at disagreement. "I will write you letters, lover, as often as I can manage putting a pen to paper. Come, now. The sun is setting, and I would have you to bed one last time before I go." His smile, which had brightened his features with childish delight, turned coy and knowing. His mouth came down to seal over mine, and we shared a fervent kiss. We fell into bed, practically tripping over one another to undress, my hands tugging away his shirt, his nudging down my trousers.
When we lay entangled, naked, and panting for our efforts, we could not help but laugh at each other. We pawed and nudged, kissing, groping, pushing and shoving; we played like this for some time before our passions got the better of us and we made our desperate love. Both of us knew without saying that this would be our last chance in some time - years, perhaps, or even ever. Our bodies melded almost like one, moving in time, drawing old doubts out and away, like poison from a serpent's bite. Of all the times we had lain together, this night we spent was the cleanest and most pure. There was no hidden pain, no secret treachery. We thrust against and into one another with the agony of our imminent parting plain in every gasp and moan.
In the middle of it, Sagramore began to weep, shuddering with gasping sobs even as he pressed himself inside me. My arms folded round his shoulders, and I held him close against me, his face buried into the crook of my neck as he cried, keening words in his mother tongue that I could not comprehend. I could only whisper into his ear words I hoped would soothe him. "Hush, now," I murmured, trying to mimic the natural manner in which he had always calmed me in my boyhood fits of grief or rage, "It's not forever. You shall see me again, and it will be sooner than you think."
I knew that my words could quite easily have been lies, but if I could at all help it, I would make sure that they would not be. Nevertheless, they seemed to quiet his sobs, reducing them to whimpers and quavering hiccoughs. I cradled him against me, both of us having quite forgotten our passion. He slipped out of me and curled up by my side. Never had I seen him so emotional, for all that we'd known one another for over two decades of our lives. We lay together, naked but only chastely holding one another, whispering reassurances and exchanging old memories. Sometimes, we would laugh shakily at a particularly funny remembrance, he still at the edge of tears, I fighting to keep them from falling at all. Our faces were a hair's breadth apart, our foreheads touching and our noses brushing just so. I cupped my hand against the back of his head, and he had his arm thrown about my waist; our legs were tangled up together, all knees and jutting angles. Like children keeping pointless secrets, we remained this way until the sun began to turn the sky pale.
When the birds began to sing their morning songs, we parted reluctantly from each other's embraces, dressing slowly so as to linger together just a little longer. At length, we kissed goodbye and murmured our farewells. Tears came again, quietly this time, and for us both; I forced myself to depart, bidding him silently not to follow. He did not, and when I closed the door, I saw the last glimpse of Sagramore's face that I would see for some time. I knew where the first leg of my journey would take me, and I mounted the old bay nag that had been Kay's, that I could not bear to sell or have killed - the wretched thing had outlived him, damn it to hell. It was a plain creature and bore my slight weight well enough for all its age, and I was able to start out toward Dame Viviane's lake with little trouble. Here I was, a man reborn, leaving behind everything he hated and loved for a future of terrifying uncertainty. Here was the ending of my life as I knew it, and the beginning of of the life of someone I could scarcely recognize.
"Are you sure you want to do this? It seems so - dramatic." I thinned my lips and watched Sagramore's reflection in the glass. He clearly looked uneasy with the knife in one hand, and the other settled on my shoulder. I was dressed in plain clothes, muted in color, as opposed to the rich garb of kingship. It suited me better, I thought, to be dressed as a peasant.
"Do it. I'll be too easily known otherwise," I said after a pause, "It's only hair; it will grow back eventually." Sagramore exhaled through his nose and took my length of hair in his free hand, hesitating a moment before he began sawing through it with the knife. Once the majority of it was gone, he began to work more deftly, and I watched, rapt, as I began to transform. It took a little while, for I'd grown my hair long and it was naturally so thick, but when he was finished, I barely recognized myself. What was left of the black locks I was infamous for as a boy stuck up in short, unruly peaks. No one could accuse me now of girlish vanity, for Sagramore's handiwork was messy and uneven. It was perfect.
"Where has my Mordred gone?" the Hungarian pouted, only half-serious; he ran his fingers through the freshly shorn tufts, trying to pat them down some. In greater earnest, he murmured, tone nearly a whisper, "I see this stranger before me now, and he is beautiful, but he is not my Mordred. I think I may have cut away more than your hair this evening." Seeing the mournful look at his reflection's face, I turned to look up at him, but I couldn't quite manage the reassuring smile I wanted to give.
"Anything that was cut away was rotted and old. I'm starting again, and high time I did. It was weighing me down." I did not have to explain what "it" was, nor did he seem to feel the need to ask. Again, he threaded his fingers through what remained of my hair, this time bending to leave a gentle kiss on my temple. My eyes drifted shut for a moment as I drew in a silent breath, expelling it as soundlessly. "You cannot come with me, you know. I need you here, to be my eyes and my ears, and I would leave before Constantine gets it in his head to have me exiled - or executed. He is not merciful to his rivals, and he sees ambition in every man who so much as looks him in the eye while that crown sits upon his brow." Sagramore's face fell, but he nodded in understanding.
"I hope that you will write, at least. If I cannot share your adventures, I would hear of them from you by your own hand."
"Fool," I chuckled, brushing from my shoulder a lock of hair that had been missed, "You can scarcely read English, yet you ask of me letters?" He sniffed, mock-indignant at my gibe.
"I shall have your brother read them to me," was his answer, and a bright answer it was. Gawaine was ever my ally, even as my brief rule as High King served to ruin everything of my father's that he'd loved. I knew that my mother's second son would support me in this as staunchly as he did in anything else. There was no harm, I supposed, in having him read some perfectly innocuous letters to my friend.
"Very well," I relented, though I had not so much as put up a pretense at disagreement. "I will write you letters, lover, as often as I can manage putting a pen to paper. Come, now. The sun is setting, and I would have you to bed one last time before I go." His smile, which had brightened his features with childish delight, turned coy and knowing. His mouth came down to seal over mine, and we shared a fervent kiss. We fell into bed, practically tripping over one another to undress, my hands tugging away his shirt, his nudging down my trousers.
When we lay entangled, naked, and panting for our efforts, we could not help but laugh at each other. We pawed and nudged, kissing, groping, pushing and shoving; we played like this for some time before our passions got the better of us and we made our desperate love. Both of us knew without saying that this would be our last chance in some time - years, perhaps, or even ever. Our bodies melded almost like one, moving in time, drawing old doubts out and away, like poison from a serpent's bite. Of all the times we had lain together, this night we spent was the cleanest and most pure. There was no hidden pain, no secret treachery. We thrust against and into one another with the agony of our imminent parting plain in every gasp and moan.
In the middle of it, Sagramore began to weep, shuddering with gasping sobs even as he pressed himself inside me. My arms folded round his shoulders, and I held him close against me, his face buried into the crook of my neck as he cried, keening words in his mother tongue that I could not comprehend. I could only whisper into his ear words I hoped would soothe him. "Hush, now," I murmured, trying to mimic the natural manner in which he had always calmed me in my boyhood fits of grief or rage, "It's not forever. You shall see me again, and it will be sooner than you think."
I knew that my words could quite easily have been lies, but if I could at all help it, I would make sure that they would not be. Nevertheless, they seemed to quiet his sobs, reducing them to whimpers and quavering hiccoughs. I cradled him against me, both of us having quite forgotten our passion. He slipped out of me and curled up by my side. Never had I seen him so emotional, for all that we'd known one another for over two decades of our lives. We lay together, naked but only chastely holding one another, whispering reassurances and exchanging old memories. Sometimes, we would laugh shakily at a particularly funny remembrance, he still at the edge of tears, I fighting to keep them from falling at all. Our faces were a hair's breadth apart, our foreheads touching and our noses brushing just so. I cupped my hand against the back of his head, and he had his arm thrown about my waist; our legs were tangled up together, all knees and jutting angles. Like children keeping pointless secrets, we remained this way until the sun began to turn the sky pale.
When the birds began to sing their morning songs, we parted reluctantly from each other's embraces, dressing slowly so as to linger together just a little longer. At length, we kissed goodbye and murmured our farewells. Tears came again, quietly this time, and for us both; I forced myself to depart, bidding him silently not to follow. He did not, and when I closed the door, I saw the last glimpse of Sagramore's face that I would see for some time. I knew where the first leg of my journey would take me, and I mounted the old bay nag that had been Kay's, that I could not bear to sell or have killed - the wretched thing had outlived him, damn it to hell. It was a plain creature and bore my slight weight well enough for all its age, and I was able to start out toward Dame Viviane's lake with little trouble. Here I was, a man reborn, leaving behind everything he hated and loved for a future of terrifying uncertainty. Here was the ending of my life as I knew it, and the beginning of of the life of someone I could scarcely recognize.